


Well Suited

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Suit Kink, Suit Sex, Vampire AU, What Charles really gets off on is flipping the script, kloktober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27196108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: “I hate it,” Nathan growled, scowling at himself in the mirror. “I look like a fucking penguin.”“It’s a formal suit, Nathan. You should always have one, ah, just in case a situation that calls for it arises.” Though Charles was quite serious, he couldn’t help a small smile. “Relax, at least it’s not a fitting stage where it’s full of pins.”
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Charles Foster Offdensen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Well Suited

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kloktober 2020 day 25 prompt, "Pajamas or formal wear." I didn't start writing this exactly planning to make it a vampire AU... But you know what, it's Halloween, so why not?

“I hate it,” Nathan growled, scowling at himself in the mirror. “I look like a fucking penguin.”

“It’s a formal suit, Nathan. You should always have one, ah, just in case a situation that calls for it arises.” Though Charles was quite serious, he couldn’t help a small smile. “Relax, at least it’s not a fitting stage where it’s full of pins.”

Nathan sighed, rolling his shoulders as though trying to get the cloth to settle more comfortably. “Ugh, tailoring. Remind me to never let you talk me into this again.”

“Noted.” 

One discrete gesture, and the hooded tailor and other attendants melted out of the room, leaving them alone. When the door was closed again, Charles walked over to the long table along one side of the luxury dressing room and, after a moment’s consideration, selected a tie from a range of colors and subtle patterns. Unlike himself, Nathan didn’t need a red tie to draw attention; his mere bulk and presence, onstage or otherwise, took care of that easily. The tie he’d chosen was a solid oxblood with a dark sheen.

“I do appreciate your patience today, Nathan,” he said, running the silk through his fingers as he walked back to the other man and came to stand between Nathan and the mirror. Then, in one swift motion, Charles looped the tie around the back of Nathan’s neck and tugged, causing him to stumble a step or two forward. “But to complete the look, you really ought to wear a tie with it.”

Their eyes met, each recognizing this game and, in their own way, agreeing to follow the rules. 

“I don’t want to complete the look,” Nathan grumbled, but stood still while Charles got the tie situated and collar smoothed over it. 

“Do you know how to tie one of these?”

Nathan squinted at him, obviously suspecting this one some sort of trick question. “No.”

“Then watch.”

Charles showed him, step by step. He didn’t expect the lesson to stick; he did, however, enjoy the way Nathan grudgingly made his own halfway passable attempt at a full Windsor, large fingers yanking the tie inelegantly through the different stages of tying it. One of the most powerful men in the world, struggling to follow his instructions merely because Charles had told him to do so. It was a rush, but not the end goal. 

“There,” Nathan grunted, frowning at him from behind a partially drawn curtain of black hair, “happy now?”

“That depends.” Charles moved around to stand alongside him, regarding both their reflections in the floor-to-ceiling trifold mirror. “Hm. What do you think?”

“About what?” Nathan frowned at the mirror. “We’re just wearing suits.”

“It’s not about the clothing, Nathan, it’s about the image.” He straightened his own jacket, glanced over, and tapped the other man on the back to get him to stand up straight. “It looks good on you.” 

“Yeah?” Nathan was staring at him in the mirror, a gleam in his eye. “That the real reason you wanted me to get one, Charles?”

They both knew the answer to that. Before Charles could voice it, however, Nathan turned and grabbed him by his red power tie. He stumbled—and appreciated the irony—into leaning against Nathan’s broad chest, hands resting automatically on the dark lapels. An arm locked around his waist to hold him there. 

Inches away, Nathan stared intensely down at him. “I’m not stupid. You don’t do all this fancy tailoring shit, why’s it such a big deal to get me to do it?”

“I, ah, like to be underestimated,” Charles replied, covering a sudden urge to go breathless with faux matter-of-factness. 

“You do, huh?” Nathan glanced around for the nearest empty wall. There weren’t actually many options, given all the narrow display tables and shelves in the room, so he walked Charles over to the door and pushed him firmly against it. And locked the door, for good measure. “What is it you don’t want people to know, Offdensen?”

Again, before Charles had a chance to answer he found his wrists being caught in the grip of one big hand and pinned against the door above his head. He fought the urge to let his head fall back and bare his neck—not yet, anyway. 

Instead, he held Nathan’s commanding gaze. “You’re not going to find all my secrets by strip-searching me.”

Nathan chuckled, already pulling his manager’s shirt up to untuck it and find the bottom button. “Yeah, I know. But since I’m here, I might as well, right?” His fingers could be deft, when they wanted to be—Nathan was a fairly accomplished guitarist, in fact, but only ever used the skill when arguing with Skwisgaar about guitar parts. He made quick work of the buttons from bottom to top, neglecting to undo the tie in favor of going straight to rucking up the white under-layer Charles always wore beneath his white dress shirts. 

When he’d revealed what he wanted to see, he studied Charles’ face like a bug under a microscope as he lightly, so lightly, traced the well-defined lines of his manager’s washboard abs. 

“So I guess the crappy suit is to hide the fact that you’re fucking ripped, huh?”

“Mmn.” Charles bit the inside of his lip, trying to concentrate over the sensation of Nathan’s touch and the thunder of a quickening pulse. He could have broken Nathan’s grip on his wrists easily, but had zero intention of doing so. “That’s, ah . . . one of the reasons, yes.”

Nathan slotted one thigh in between his and pressed. “Is the other one to help hide when you’re pitching a tent?”

Charles swallowed hard at the additional contact. “That's an, ah, appreciable benefit, at, ah, times.” His eye was drawn to Nathan’s mouth, to the sharp upper canines that peaked out under the increasingly smug grin. They were quite honestly the first thing he’d ever noticed about the younger man, from the first time he’d seen Dethklok performing on the stage of a seedy club and watched the lead singer growl and bare his teeth in disdain of the audience at his feet. And there it was again, the urge to bare his neck.

This time, he gave into it. Nathan was getting good at this game, he reflected, swallowing a moan as Nathan pressed closer in every way and kissed at the pale, vulnerable skin with just a maddening hint of teeth. 

He felt debauched, pressed against the locked changing room door with his shirt undone and his legs spread as wide as he could get them in his suit pants. The fact that Nathan was dressed to the nines in impeccably tailored formal wear for this, hiking Charles’s wrists further up the door and pushing his knee up so Charles could both rest his weight there and grind forward on it, effectively holding him just off the floor, left him feeling so perfectly overwhelmed that Charles was about ready to _vibrate out of his skin_. 

God, he’d needed this. He needed it, and Nathan had always told him that if he needed it, all he had to do was ask. 

“Nathan,” he gasped, not even trying to hold it in anymore. “Please. . . .”

The pressure of teeth on his neck became more definite, and one sharp canine dragged up the length of his carotid artery. Behind him, Charles knew, there was now only one reflection in the large mirror now. Nathan nipped at his earlobe, bit harder and used that purchase to tip Charles’ head back down and kiss him hard. 

Charles felt it happening, felt teeth lengthening to needlepoint sharpness. They were designed for ripping and tearing and then, after, to retract again so they weren’t in the way when it was time to drink. He kissed helplessly back, felt tooth slice along lip as Nathan disengaged with a practiced twist of his head. 

“Ahh,” Nathan hissed at the cut to his bottom lip and pulled back a fraction, looking questioningly at Charles. “Is that deep enough?”

“Yes,” Charles gasped, his fangs already shrinking once more. “Nathan, I need—”

But Nathan was good at this game; he already knew, and kissed Charles again, gently this time, letting the blood trickle into his mouth. Every muscle in Charles’ body tensed as it hit his tongue, pulsing through him, and Nathan’s heartbeat loud in his ears until his very being shook with it. 

It wasn’t a large wound. A few moments later, when the bleeding slowed and Charles came back to himself, he was lapping weakly at Nathan’s bottom lip and the cut was almost closed. The cuts from his bites, as long as they went deeper than a bad papercut but not deep enough to be fatal, always healed quickly. 

He realized that his arms were back at his sides and Nathan had lowered him back to his feet, but was still holding him upright. Not that the help was needed—vampires were, after all, much stronger than the average human, even right after orgasm. 

“Hey, you back? Anybody home in there?” Nathan poked his cheek, which made Charles huff a little but, honestly, the care was welcome. He'd gotten lucky; Nathan put on a tough act, but he was always pretty good about checking in, when it came to this stuff. “You don’t usually zone out like that after, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just, ah. . . .” Charles offered him a dazed smile. Once again, his hands automatically came to rest on the dark lapels of Nathan’s new suit, which looked miraculously unrumpled. Not so much as one red drop gone to waste. He rested his head on Nathan’s shoulder. “That was very intense, that time.”

“Yeah? Because of my blood?” Nathan looked obscurely pleased to hear it. “Brutal.”

“Mm. I should probably try not to go so long between meals, too, but yes.” He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the lingering feeling of warmth. After a moment, he added, “And also the suit. You look very, ah, commanding in this.”

“Huh.” The arms holding him up flexed, one hand drifting to pat him affectionately on the ass. “I guess it’s worth keeping then.”

It would take a bit longer for Charles to regain his reflection, but there were other things they could do to pass the time until then. One in particular was pressing against his hip. . . . The new suit would have to come off for that, though, and that could happen in a moment. Charles himself was going to need a change of underwear—that could wait too. For right now, he was just enjoying the feeling of Nathan’s heart beating nearby and fingers playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't write this with any particular vampire lore in mind, I just liked the idea that, as a vampire, it's now baked into Charles' psyche that neck biting is a sexy, sexy act.


End file.
